Heat of the Bullet
by more-than-words
Summary: Henry was preparing dinner and waiting for his wife to come home when the DS agent showed up at the door to tell him exactly why Elizabeth was running late...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! This was supposed to be a one shot to try to get me over my epic writer's block but, um, it grew. Now it's I don't really know what and I haven't entirely decided where it's going but I hope you like this first chapter! Please do let me know what you think and if you'd like to read the rest :D

* * *

 **Heat of the Bullet**

 **Chapter One**

The kitchen was filled with the scent of fresh bread warming in the oven, and the wine had already been opened so that it could breathe. Everything was almost ready.

Henry finished preparing the salad and then wiped his hands on a towel, casting a quick glance at his watch as he did so.

Huh. That was strange. He had been expecting Elizabeth home half an hour ago; time had obviously got away from him while he was cooking dinner and he hadn't realised that it had already ticked past the hour when his wife had said she should be home.

Disappointment beat through him. He supposed that she had been caught up in some last minute problem or other, but when he had spoken to her a couple of hours ago, she had sounded fairly confident about her ETA. Just a speech to deliver followed by twenty minutes or so of glad-handing, and then she'd be back in her car on her way home. Apparently things hadn't worked out as she'd planned.

It was something Henry had grown used to in the few years since she had become Secretary of State, but he had been hoping that tonight she'd be able to make it back on time, because he had some amends to make. He had been cranky with her that morning, snappy when she didn't deserve it for a concerned comment she had made about the demands his workload had been placing on him recently, and he had seen the flash of hurt on her face before she had quickly covered it and made her excuses to leave for work.

The fight – no, it hadn't been a fight, because she hadn't engaged or risen to the bait… His unprovoked snappish comments had weighed on him heavily all morning, and it had taken him a few hours to realise exactly why. It wasn't just the guilt he felt at calling Elizabeth out when she'd just been expressing worry for him, it was the fact she had been hurt by what he said but had felt she had to hide it from him. It was the fact that she thought he was spoiling for a fight, reading criticism into her comment about his busy job when really all she had meant was what she had said: that she was worried he was working too much, sleeping not enough, and that she missed him. And in response he had bitten her head off, prompting her to scarper before he could see the extent of the impact, before he could do any more damage.

The thought of it had really got to him, the guilt throbbing like a pulse, and so he had called her to apologise and had promised that they would have an intimate evening to make up for it, just the two of them with dinner and wine, and sleep before midnight, and he had cleared the majority of his afternoon schedule to make sure he could get home in time to get everything prepared.

He had changed into a charcoal suit he knew that she liked, and cooked food he knew she loved, and he hoped that she was able to get home soon so he could apologise again in person before wining and dining her for the rest of the night.

He was just taking the paper off a large bouquet of tulips when the doorbell rang.

Frowning at the interruption, and hoping that it would be brief, Henry left the tulips on the countertop and went to get the door.

"Dr McCord." The man from Elizabeth's security detail spoke before Henry could even get the door all the way open, and even just the serious tone in his voice set Henry's nerves on edge.

He opened the door wider to see that the man's face matched his tone; all business, with just the faintest hint of urgency. Henry felt his nerves start to slip ever so slightly over the edge – nothing good ever came from Diplomatic Security feeling the need for urgency. "Carl, what's going on?"

"You mind if we come in? We need to sweep the house." Carl stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, looking behind him and beckoning to several agents who were waiting a few steps behind. They followed him in, moving quickly into the house to conduct their sweep.

Henry watched them file past, and that was when he noticed – the street outside was busier than usual. Elizabeth's motorcade wasn't yet back in its normal spot in front of the house, but in addition to the normal security that stayed there twenty-four seven, there were several cars that could easily be identified as DS vehicles as well as agents clustered on the sidewalk, none of them making even the slightest effort to appear inconspicuous.

No way was that the result of anything good.

Dread took up residence in the pit of his gut and he turned back to Carl to find the other man watching him piece the situation together. "You swept the house this morning," Henry said, an accusation. An indirect challenge. Also a distraction, of sorts.

He wanted to demand the man to tell him what the hell was going on, but for some reason he thought that the longer he didn't know the truth of it, the longer that everything was still okay. If he didn't know exactly what was going on, the five agents currently sweeping the house might only be routine and the extra security in the street outside might only be an exercise, and Carl in his house wearing an expression of pressured professionalism might be nothing at all.

Might.

If he stretched credulity to its very limits.

"We did," the DS man confirmed.

A beat passed. He had to ask, even if it meant that the curiosity killed him. "Where's Elizabeth?" He didn't bother to hide the depth of his concern that he knew leeched out into his voice and onto his face.

There was the slightest crack in Carl's mask, almost imperceptible, just for a moment before he answered the question. "The Secretary is secure, Dr McCord. We have her."

The way he said the sentence did nothing to dispel Henry's growing worry, and when he thought about it, it wasn't really an answer at all. "Carl –"

He started to follow up, to demand that the man elaborate on that statement, to tell him where his wife was, but then a thought occurred to Henry. Carl said that DS had Elizabeth. But – "What about the kids?"

"You have no reason to worry about the children, Dr McCord, they're fine. But you should probably call them."

The dread in his stomach started to churn in earnest, even as it was clear to Henry that the man was telling the truth about the children being fine. "Why?"

"Because about twenty-five minutes ago, someone made an attempt on the Secretary's life. And in the next few minutes I'd expect the news to break on CNN. Dr McCord, are you okay? Dr McCord?"


	2. Chapter 2

You guys. I'm seriously blown away by the response to the first chapter of this story. Like really. _Thank you_ so, so much for the enthusiasm and to everyone for reading and commenting. Now I have performance anxiety lol - I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint :)

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

There was nothing but the loud rush of blood in his head and the words that played on repeat in his mind, over and over.

 _Someone made an attempt on the Secretary's life_. _Someone made an attempt on the Secretary's life. Someone…_

Henry felt light-headed, and he felt himself staggering back a couple of steps, but he had no control over his limbs, could hardly even see through the blur that filled his vision – tears or panic or both. He was steadied only by the hallway wall at his back as he stumbled.

Someone had tried to kill his wife. _Oh God._ Rage joined the terror that ran riot in his veins, melding with it and forcing a surge of adrenaline to go sparking through his body. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Dr McCord, are you okay?"

The persistent question filtered through the haze of his thoughts. It might have been the first or the sixth time of asking. It almost made him want to laugh. What a stupid question. Was he okay? If Elizabeth wasn't okay then he would never be okay again. Oh, God, what if she wasn't okay? What if..? Either way, even if she was fine, someone had tried to kill her and that demanded action and definitely was not in any way okay. The thought sharpened him, brought him back a little, focused him. Gave him purpose and thoughts of avengement.

But was he okay?

He blinked to clear his vision. "Well, that depends," Henry said, his voice cutting and cold as he focused his gaze on Carl the DS agent, making the other man flinch a little. "Is my wife okay?"

"She wasn't shot," said the DS agent. "The bullets didn't hit her."

Bullets.

So it had been an attempted shooting. _Damn._ And _bullets._ As in more than one.

Henry felt an icy grip around his heart as he digested the news. He had been at the wrong end of a shooting not all that long ago and he knew that even if Elizabeth hadn't been hit, the situation must have been terrifying. He was also aware that once again the DS agent hadn't fully answered his question. "But?" he prompted.

"They're taking her to GW now, to get checked out."

"Why?" If she hadn't been hit, why did she need to go to the hospital? And why did Carl look like he was holding something back?

"She was vomiting in the car."

"Why?"

"Dr McCord, they had to get her out of there. Once they got her in the car, they weren't exactly driving slow. They engaged in evasive manoeuvres. It wasn't a smooth ride."

For some reason, Henry didn't think that was the entire story. The look on Carl's face suggested that there was something more. "And?"

"The shooting happened while she was finishing her speech. DS reacted to get her out of the line of fire. It was a rush, there was a scrum of agents around her, she stumbled and hit her head while they were getting her off the stage. Plus the shock, you know. The adrenaline."

Oh, yeah, Henry knew all about the shock and the adrenaline. He was feeling some of it right at that moment, and it contributed to the fury in his voice when he said, "So the bullets didn't hurt her, but Diplomatic Security did." Then almost immediately he felt bad about his words. "I'm sorry. I know you guys were doing your jobs. You saved her life." At least potential concussion wasn't a bullet wound, but neither was it good.

"We got her into the car twenty seconds after the first shots were fired. Procedure worked exactly as it was supposed to. I know that doesn't help you right now, Dr McCord, but…"

Henry waved him off. "I know." He sucked in a breath, felt tears hot and persistent at his eyes. Relief or distress, he wasn't sure. "The security outside?" he asked ineloquently.

Luckily Carl seemed to get what he was asking. "We don't think there's a threat to your home, but it's protocol to ensure we secure the Secretary's residence."

"You don't _think_ there's a threat?" Only thinking it wasn't enough for Henry.

"As sure as we can be at this stage. The shooter is in custody. We think he was working alone. But there'll be extra security here and with the Secretary until we're sure and we know what happened."

There was so much to unpack in that short speech, but it wasn't the time. There would be time for more questions soon, but right at that moment there was only one thing that mattered to Henry. "Take me to my wife."

* * *

He spoke to the kids while he was in the car, being chauffeured to the hospital under flashing blue lights in a car driven by DS.

Correction: he spoke to Stevie while he was in the car.

He had just settled back into his seat and taken a moment to close his eyes and draw in a long, slow breath in the hope of calming his racing heart – he didn't think it would slow even slightly until he saw Elizabeth and could be sure she was okay – when his cell phone rang, cutting into this thoughts.

Henry looked down to see the face of his eldest child flashing up on the screen and as he answered, he already knew: Stevie must already know, too. "Hi," he said.

She didn't beat about the bush. "Dad, did you hear about Mom?"

There was something in the way she asked him that caught him off guard. It took him a moment to realise what it was. Stevie sounded… in control. Panicked and stressed and scared, sure, but also… equipped. Competent.

She sounded exactly like her mother.

The hot tears that had been threatening for the past couple of minutes finally spilled over and he couldn't hide the catch in his breath. "Yeah, honey, I did," he replied. "How did you –"

"I'm at the White House. Russell told me."

Of course. Her internship. He should have known. He hoped that Russell had told her nicely. "Yeah. They said she's okay, Stevie. They're taking her to the hospital, but –"

She cut him off again. "She wasn't shot."

"No."

There was a pause and he could practically hear her thinking from the other end of the phone line. "You're going to be with her, right? You're going to the hospital?"

"I'm in the car now," he confirmed, looking out the window to try to gauge how far they still had to go. Another few minutes, he figured. Maybe a minute less if they kept speeding the way they were. He silently thanked the DS agents in the front seat for understanding the urgency of this trip.

"That's good," Stevie said. Then she said, "I'm thinking I should stay here. There's intelligence coming in, they're coordinating the response. I'm not allowed in the meetings but Russell said he'd let me know the second they know anything."

"Yeah, Stevie, that sounds like a good idea." It sounded like a good idea on two levels. One: it sounded like Stevie needed to be occupied and staying at the White House would make her feel useful, give her a focus. And two: she might be able to get some information that would help to explain why this had happened, why someone had decided that they wanted her mother dead. Henry knew that he wouldn't rest until he had answers – and neither would his daughter.

His eldest child wasn't a child anymore.

"Have you spoken to Ali and Jason?" Stevie asked.

"Not yet." He wondered how he was going to fit those phone calls in; he was almost at the hospital and he was desperate to see Elizabeth, and while he badly wanted to make the calls and do his duty as a parent to reassure his children, speaking to the kids would take time.

"I'll call them," Stevie said. "I'll say you'll be in touch when you've seen Mom."

Henry felt a rush of gratitude towards his daughter for making the decision for him, followed by a wave of guilt at the relief he felt that he wouldn't need to waste precious minutes calling his younger children before he went to see his wife. "Thank you," he told Stevie.

"Dad… before you see Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"You should turn on the news." There was the sound of rustling from the other end of the phone line followed by what sounded like Russell Jackson on the warpath, and Henry was oddly reassured to know that in this situation, the President's Chief of Staff would undoubtedly be fighting in Elizabeth's corner. "Dad, I have to go," Stevie said hurriedly. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Watch the news."

"I love you," he told her, but she had gone before he was certain that she had heard him.

The car started to slow as they approached the hospital and Henry used the time to follow Stevie's instructions, using his phone to find the news webpage.

He was unsurprised to see the breaking news story at the top of the page, having been briefed by Carl that it was likely to hit the media soon.

What he hadn't been prepared for was the footage of the incident, and it had to be that which Stevie had meant for him to see.

As the car started to slow to a stop outside the hospital's main doors, Henry hit _play_.

And the terror washed over him all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you once again for all the wonderful support for this story; I'm so glad that people are enjoying it so far. I hope you like this next chapter :)

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

The video was shaky, filmed on a camera phone with poor picture and sound quality, but the content was clear enough.

Henry watched as it opened on a shot of Elizabeth standing on a platform at an outdoor podium, her hair blowing slightly in the breeze as she gave her speech to the assembled crowd. From the look on her face and the way she held herself, Henry figured that she had been getting to the end; he had seen enough of her speeches to know the signs.

"… and it surely has to make us stop and think," she said as she cast her gaze over the audience, and for a moment it looked as though she was looking directly at the camera that had filmed the video, sending a jolt through Henry's chest as he watched her face intently. "It has to make us stop and consider exactly what it is that we –"

The gunshot cracked loudly on the air, cutting her off, the distinctive noise of the shot and the ricochet all too clear despite the poor sound quality of the video.

At the same time as the shot, Elizabeth's head whipped to her right, and Henry figured that the bullet had flashed right past her. For her to make a move like that, it must have been close enough for her to feel the rush of air as it went by.

 _Close. So close._

 _Too close._

It must have missed her by only _inches_.

Nausea riled up inside him as he watched his wife stand frozen on the podium for one second, two seconds, before her DS agents started to rush the stage at the exact same moment as another gunshot sounded and the bullet slammed hard into the podium, making Elizabeth jump, the polished wood and the seal of the State Department the only things stopping it from slamming straight into Elizabeth instead.

But Henry didn't have time to digest that horror, because in the very next second, the crowd started to part and scream as they realised what had happened, and one of Elizabeth's DS agents shouted " _Madam Secretary!"_ and reached out to shove her hard away from the podium, no doubt acting on instinct to get her away from where the bullets were. She stumbled but was caught by two other agents who shouldered her between them and started to hustle her away down the short flight of stairs at the side of the stage. It was difficult to get a clear look at her face but Henry could imagine the white heat of terror she must have felt.

"Oh, my God," said the person holding the camera phone. "Oh, my God."

Henry hadn't been expecting the third gunshot.

It took him by surprise and, it seemed, Elizabeth too as it smashed into the stage only a metre or two from where she was standing, splintering wood and sending smoke up in its wake. Her agents pressed closer around her at the sound of the shot so that she was barely visible to the camera as they pushed her quickly down the stairs. She tripped on a stair, and Henry thought that her agents must have been so busy scanning the area to try to work out if they should be expecting further incoming fire that they had forgotten to check someone was keeping his wife upright. She buckled and vanished from sight for a second, blocked by the bodies of three DS agents who formed a solid wall between her and the camera.

And, in turn, between her and the gun in the crowd.

Thank _fuck_.

A moment later, Henry caught a flash of her blonde hair as one of her agents hauled her up and then together they ran her away from the stage. He couldn't see clearly, but he thought that her feet weren't even touching the ground.

The footage cut out then as whoever was holding the camera was jostled by someone from behind and Henry found himself desperate to know what had happened next, desperate for a conclusion even as he already knew that her agents had put Elizabeth in the car and brought her to the hospital where he had just arrived.

The whole thing from the first shot to when the video cut out had been maybe fifteen seconds.

They were already etched indelibly on his memory.

He let out a shaky breath and let his head fall back against the leather seat. Adrenaline was churning through him as though he had been there. His palms were sweaty. His heart was racing.

One of the agents in the front seat of the car turned around to face him. "Dr McCord? We're here."

Henry blinked to try to clear his mind of the images of bullets being fired at his wife by a gun that should never have made it through security into the crowd. He looked up at the agents. "Yeah."

The images stayed with him.

* * *

He was grateful he had an agent with him so he didn't have to worry about finding his way, but it turned out he didn't need to worry about it, anyway.

Given the situation, there was a significant security presence already at the hospital, the entrance marked by the flashing lights of police cars and staffed by armed guards, and all Henry had to do was follow the trail of officers with guns all the way to Elizabeth's room.

He was waved right on through without question, whether because of the DS agent at his side or because they knew his face he wasn't sure, but he didn't give a damn. All he wanted was to see Elizabeth.

He knew, logically, that she was mostly okay. The bullets hadn't hit her. He'd seen it with his own eyes. They'd come close – way, way too close – but they hadn't made their target. They hadn't managed to get her.

But, damn it, they'd tried, and that was the thing that wouldn't leave him.

It had been so close, and only that morning he had been terse with her and if the bullets had hit her like they were so obviously meant to, that could have been the last time that she had seen him.

And that was unforgiveable. Henry felt awful.

His face was mask of grim shock and barely-contained grief as he marched purposefully through the halls, aware of the violent tremors shaking his hands as he struggled to keep his composure.

Then they turned a corner to a room guarded by familiar agents and Henry's heart rate kicked into overdrive as he heard voices through the door.

"I'm _fine_. Please. Just tell me again. Everyone is accounted for? You're sure?"

He stopped dead just outside the door at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. He could hear the panic and the stress, and clear as day he could hear the lie that she was fine. She sounded like she was about to shatter.

He glanced at Frank, one of the agents on the door. "Can I..?"

He didn't know why he was asking. There was no way he _wasn't_ going in that room.

Without waiting for a response, Henry reached out and opened the door, stepping quickly through, oblivious to everyone else around them as he finally laid eyes on Elizabeth.

Her head snapped around as the door opened, frustrated rage in her expression at the interruption that softened immediately into desperate, silent need when she saw him. She stood in the middle of the room, tears filling her eyes, and Henry crossed the space in three long strides to hold her, wrapping his arms around her carefully, in case she was hurt, but securely, because he _had_ to. He had to feel her against him.

He felt her arms slide around his waist and her cheek pressed against his chest like she was seeking out his heartbeat and he wanted to tell her _no, you don't need to check that_ I'm _alive_. But as he opened his mouth to speak no sound came out and so instead he buried his lips in her hair, pressing kisses to her head, and let his tears blur his vision and just stood there with her held in the circle of his arms, his body curled in around hers so that if any more bullets came flying her way that night, they'd first have to get through him to get to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you again to everyone coming along for the ride on this story. I'm so thrilled that you're enjoying it so far, and you never fail to make my day with your lovely comments and support. Seriously, thank you. I hope you like this chapter :)

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Even as she sank into his embrace, Henry could feel the tension radiating through Elizabeth, her body stiff and tense against his. He fancied that he could practically feel her entire body humming with panic and adrenaline, the trauma still too fresh and recent for her to have yet had time to process the fact that she was safe.

He shifted his arms against her, hoping that she found his presence comforting. He thought that she did. She was certainly clinging on to him like he was her lifeline.

Henry's heart was still thumping solidly in his chest, and he had a small taste of how Elizabeth must have felt when months ago she had been told that he had been shot and had made the trip to the hospital to see him. If it had been even a fraction of this…

He raised one hand to cup the back of her head, fingers smoothing over her hair. She shifted her head against his chest and he could smell the faint tang of sweat and vomit, and he remembered that Carl had told him she had been throwing up in the car.

He drew back slightly to see her face. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hi." Elizabeth looked like she didn't know what to feel. Her eyes were slightly glassy, her pupils blown wide, and Henry wondered if that was a normal response to fright or a sign of a concussion.

"Tell me you're okay," he said.

"I'm okay," she answered automatically.

Immediately he kicked himself, realising his mistake. He might be in need of reassurance, but more than that, he needed to know the truth. Of course she was going to tell him that she was okay when he asked her to. Of course she was going to say that she was fine even when she obviously wasn't. He tried a different approach. "What did the doctor say?"

"Henry, I'm fine." She looked directly at him, her expression insistent but the look in her eyes and the wince she couldn't conceal suggested she wasn't quite telling the truth.

"Have you even seen the doctor yet?"

Elizabeth stepped back, breaking their embrace. Defiance coloured her face as instinct no doubt told her to defend herself. No doubt she was feeling a little on edge and wound up knotted and tight. "I've been trying to make sure that everyone is okay. That there were no casualties. That –"

"Ma'am, everyone is fine. Nobody was hit." The adamant voice belonged to Matt the DS agent, who was standing against the back wall next to Elizabeth's unused hospital bed, the very picture of professionalism despite the stress of the situation.

Even though he had heard Elizabeth talking to someone as he stood outside the door, Henry had hardly even noticed they weren't alone in the room.

Elizabeth said, insistent, "My staff –"

"Were in the car behind us, ma'am. Everybody made it out. They're all fine." It was obvious it wasn't the first time Matt had made the reassurance.

While she was still processing that statement and before she could ask another question, Henry cut in to ask the more reliable source, "Has she seen the doctor yet?"

"Not yet. I'll tell them they can come in now." From the way Matt said it before he slipped quietly out the door, Henry got the picture that Elizabeth had, against advice, banished the medical professionals from the room until she had been certain that every person who had been at the speech that evening was accounted for.

He couldn't deny that he admired his wife's dedication and the extent to which she cared, but when he'd so recently been told by one of her agents that someone had tried to kill her and then watched the footage of the shooting as he sat in the backseat of a car? Henry's interests were currently a little more singular than that. He pulled her back into his arms, needing the reassurance of her body against his. "Oh, God, babe. I was so worried. That must have been _terrifying_."

Elizabeth was silent for a long moment, standing still and stiff in his arms, before she said, her voice quiet and hollow, "I felt it, you know. The heat of the bullet. I felt it rushing past my face."

Closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill and in the hope that the darkness would block out the image of a bullet passing so close to her she must have been able to feel it disturbing the strands of her hair, Henry swallowed heavily. He was just about to reply when Elizabeth spoke once more.

"I don't know who did this, Henry."

He found he couldn't quite read her tone and so he pulled back slightly to try to read her face instead, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. "I know," he said. "But Carl said the shooter is in custody. We'll get answers, babe."

He thought that the real question – the one he had been able to hear clearly in what Elizabeth didn't say – was _why the hell did they do this?_

She nodded distractedly, and apparently a little too hard - her face suddenly blanched and her hands clutched at his arms as she swayed on her feet. She blinked like she was trying to clear her vision or maybe quell a resurgence of nausea.

She really needed to see the doctor. "Elizabeth?" Worry buzzing through him, Henry gripped her securely and was just about to call out for help when, as if on cue, the door opened and a tall woman in a doctor's coat stepped inside.

"Madam Secretary, thank you for seeing me at last," she said, and it was clear that she highly disapproved in the delay to examine her patient. Her gaze flicked to Henry. "And you must be Dr McCord."

"Yes."

She turned back to Elizabeth, her manner brusque but good-natured, like she knew exactly what was required to deal with this particular difficult patient. "Let's see how we're doing, shall we?"

* * *

The combination of the memories of the gunshots and Dr Gerber's careful examination were threatening to overwhelm her.

Elizabeth was aware of the doctor carefully probing at a sensitive spot just above her temple and the sharp throb of pain that rushed through her head in answer, but she wasn't really fully present in the sterile hospital room.

The memories kept pulling her back.

She had felt the first bullet before she heard it.

It had been from nowhere, the brief heat of something flashing past, ruffling the strands of her hair and snatching her attention from her speech. It had only been instinct that told her that something wasn't right. The bullet was already embedded in the wall behind her by the time she registered the crack of the gunshot.

"What did you do before you became Secretary of State?"

Dr Gerber's question filtered through the panicked jumble of her mind and Elizabeth clung onto it, grasping onto something that was familiar, forcing herself back into the present. The doctor was obviously testing her memory. "I was a college professor. Before that I was in the CIA."

"Good. Look here for me." The doctor held up one finger and indicated that Elizabeth should follow her movements.

She did as instructed, feeling the strain on her eyes and blinking rapidly to seek relief. A glint reflected off the wedding ring on the doctor's hand, like sunlight glancing off polished gunmetal.

 _The gun._

Had she seen the glimmer of the gun in the crowd? No, probably not, although her brain was trying to fool her into thinking that she might have. But the gun was probably made from dull black plastic, and she hadn't even known to look for one until it was already almost over.

But she had been aware of the second bullet as it slammed into the podium in front of her at the same time as the shot rang out, the echo muffled by the bodies of the crowd. It was only then that she had realised exactly what it was, and the icy burn of adrenaline had flooded into her veins as she stood frozen up on the stage, undecided in how to react. Caught in the need to keep her professional composure in deference to the cameras, and to run for her life.

Then DS had barrelled into her and taken the decision away from her, reigniting her instinct to flee.

A warm hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before stroking gently down her arm, soothing her rising distress. Henry. Elizabeth looked up at him as he stood at her side and saw the worry etched into the lines of his face, and wished that she could take it away from him. Her head throbbed as she twisted to see him properly, but the feel of him standing so close beside her made her feel at least a little better.

It was clear that Henry had been scared.

She felt guilty about that. The shooter had been aiming at her, and yet she wasn't the only one who felt the fear. The shooter had been aiming at her, and while she knew that later that thought would fill her with anger and defiance and a purpose to _do_ something, at that moment all she had was lingering terror and aches and pains and the guilt that other people had been made to feel scared as well.

She had heard the screams of the crowd as her agents had closed in around her and spirited her back towards her car.

She could see the look on Henry's face.

"Ma'am, we're almost done," said the doctor, prompting Elizabeth to look back in her direction.

"I'm fine," she said, not for the first time, even as she knew that it was an obvious lie badly told. Elizabeth was aware she was breathing rapidly but there was nothing she could do to stop it and, damn, her head _hurt_ from the collision and the car ride from hell and the tension she had been holding within her since that first bullet shot past close enough for her to feel its heat against the side of her face.

Dr Gerber's calm voice filtered through her building stress. "Can you tell me who the President is?"

Good. An easy one. "Dalton." She reached up one hand and the feel of Henry's fingers closing warmly around hers anchored her, a little.

"Which party does President Dalton represent?"

Trick question. "He's an independent."

"Good." The doctor may have been speaking in response to Dalton's political allegiances or Elizabeth's correct response to the memory test. "Nearly there. If you could just look straight ahead for me. You're going to see a bright light."

Elizabeth looked straight ahead, over the doctor's shoulder at the blank wall in front of her, forcing herself to focus. A light flashed into her eyes, no doubt the doctor checking for abnormal pupil responses. The intensity of it set off a stabbing pain in her temple and she squeezed her eyes shut against it for a moment.

She was hardly aware that she had moaned in discomfort until she felt Henry's hand moving softly over her hair as he murmured, "It's okay, babe. You're okay."

She forced herself to open her eyes and looked ahead again, her head feeling heavy and filled with fog but her eyes slowly acclimatising to the doctor's light.

Then it moved, flashing quickly, and it was only the feel of Henry's hand wrapped tight around hers that kept her in the moment, made her realise she was safe.

Stopped her thinking it was the flash of a bullet as it sped through the air towards her.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks as ever to everyone reading and commenting on this story, you're all fabulous and I'm thrilled you're enjoying this so far :) x

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

The door to the Oval Office had been shut for almost twenty minutes, long enough that Stevie had given up loitering outside and instead retreated to the Office of the Chief of Staff where she sat blankly staring at the same three minutes of headlines and information on the rolling news channel.

Things had been a blur ever since Russell had told her what had happened just as she had been about to pack up to leave for the day.

The Chief of Staff had appeared in the doorway with his phone clutched loosely in his hand, his face grey as sweat broke out at his hairline, and she hadn't seen him look like that since the day he had the heart attack, which had been concerning enough in itself. Then he had fixed his gaze on her and something in his look told her that something was very wrong. "Stevie," he'd said, beckoning her with a jerk of his head inside his office.

Then he had kindly but unceremoniously told her that someone had tried to shoot her mother.

She was still trying to get her head around that fact.

And now Russell was holed up in the Oval Office with the President and some guys from Diplomatic Security and the FBI and the National Security Advisor.

And she was desperate for answers.

Part of her wanted nothing more than to dash to the hospital, to take Russell up on the offer he had made of a car or "a tank or Marine One or whatever you damn well need" to get there. But she knew that there was nothing she could do at the hospital. She knew her dad was there with her mom, and the truth of it was she would only be in the way. She could do more good getting information at the White House.

If sitting in Russell's office watching the same news footage as the rest of the world counted as getting information.

Starting to go stir crazy, Stevie was just about to force herself to do some work – any work, anything to keep her occupied – when Russell barrelled back into the room, attention absorbed in his phone.

Stevie stood up as he came in. "Hey."

He looked up. "I swear some days I just despair about the state of the world."

The statement was just so classic Russell Jackson that for a moment things felt normal again, making her smile in familiar amusement. "Only some days?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Today in particular." Russell tossed his phone down on the desk and then turned to lean back against the sturdy wood, looking up at Stevie. "The FBI has started talking to the guy who shot at your mom."

Even though the information shouldn't have been a surprise, a jolt ran through her and Stevie stumbled a couple of steps forward, eager for anything that the Chief of Staff might tell her. "Have they… have they found anything out?"

Russell snorted. "Turns out our guy's not a big talker. Surprise of the century. But they did get his name. The name Justin Wallowski mean anything to you?"

"That's the guy who –"

"Yes."

She guessed it was protocol to see whether the man was anyone known to her mom or her family. And wasn't that a great thought that he might be? Stevie searched her memory banks but came up blank. "No. He say anything else?" There was a good chance that she wasn't actually supposed to know what was going on in the interrogation, but she figured Russell wasn't about to deny her in the circumstances.

Still, he hesitated before he answered, an apology colouring his tone as he gave her information he obviously would prefer her not to have – but knew that she needed to know. "Just that he was sorry the Secretary wasn't wearing her red blazer today. Because he thinks it makes her an easier target."

Stevie knew from watching the shooting footage on a loop that her mother that day was wearing a dove grey dress with matching fitted jacket. _Good_ , she thought spitefully at the unintentional denial of Justin Wallowski's wishes. Then something occurred to her. "Russell."

"Yes?"

"Why isn't he talking?"

Russell looked impatient at the question, no doubt thinking he was not the right man to be talking the Secretary of State's daughter through her emotional turmoil. But he sounded uncharacteristically tolerant when he replied, "They very often don't, to start with."

"No, I mean…" She tried to think how best to say it. "He was there on his own, right? The agents at the scene who tackled him said he looked to be working alone."

"Right." Russell glanced down at his phone as it buzzed insistently on the desk.

Stevie took the hint and got to the point. "He wasn't hiding. He didn't run. He must have known he was going to get caught. So why clam up now?" Seeing that she now had Russell's undivided attention as he considered the question, she took another step towards him. "Wouldn't he want to tell the world why he fired that gun tonight?"

And, oh, how she wished that he would, just so that she could _know_.

"Why would he clam up unless he had a reason to?" She held Russell's gaze, watching the cogs working in his head, watching the calculations play out on his face.

"You mean unless he wasn't working alone," he said. Unless he had someone or something to protect – an unfinished plan still in motion.

She nodded. "I _really_ hope I'm wrong, but… what if it's something more than this?"

* * *

Eventually the doctor had finished her examination and had taken her flashing light away with her, but she had not let Elizabeth go from the hospital. Further monitoring was required, apparently, until Dr Gerber was satisfied that it was safe to send her patient home.

Irony of the situation was that Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure she _would_ be safe when the doctor sent her home. The concerned hum of the DS agents standing outside the door was confirmation of the lingering threat.

She sat upright on the uncomfortable hospital bed, still wearing her grey dress although her jacket had been removed so that the doctor could clean and dress a cut on her arm that she didn't remember receiving and that had bled through the sleeve of the jacket. She had only noticed it when she had become aware of Henry staring at the blood intently like just the sight of it was hurting him; until then the pain in her arm had been an abstract thing, incorporated into her general sense of discomfort and bubbling distress. Henry now stood in the corner of the room, talking to Jason on the phone.

"It's okay, buddy," Henry said to their son. "Mom's okay." There was quiet as he listened for a moment. Then he said, "I'm not surprised there's press outside the hospital… Yeah, I know. The footage of the shooting is terrifying."

Wait. Elizabeth stilled as she processed the news. There was footage of the shooting? She hadn't known that, although she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Still, that didn't help to make it any better.

The thought of the entire world being able to watch as someone tried to kill her made her stomach churn. It wasn't something she particularly wanted to share with anyone else. Never mind the fact she knew that most people – even the ones who vehemently disliked her – would be on her side in this particular scenario.

Never mind that, because there was at least one person out there who thought that she would be better off dead and wanted everyone to know it, and that was enough to make Elizabeth want to shrink down and hide inside of herself for a good long while until she had been able to process it all.

The bullets may have missed her, but that didn't mean that the shooter had entirely missed his target.

She buried her face against her knees, heat rising in her cheeks and tears spilling over to leave cooling salty tracks in their wake. The press was waiting outside the hospital. As much as she was desperate to leave and go home, she found herself half-hoping that Dr Gerber would insist on keeping her in overnight so that she didn't have to face them.

She didn't think that she could face them.

Her head throbbed as if in sympathy to her thoughts.

"Babe?" Henry said, softly, and it was only then that she realised that he was off the phone.

She looked up, slowly, mindful of the – thankfully mild – concussion that was really starting to make its presence known. "Yeah."

Henry reached out one hand and gently wiped away the tears from her face, although he did nothing to stem the flow of the ones that still fell occasionally from her eyes; he had always been good at knowing when she needed to cry. "It's okay," he whispered. Then he settled himself next to her on the bed, sitting close on the thin mattress and wrapping his arm securely around her in comfort and protection. He kissed the side of her head. "Stevie just texted," he told her. "She says the name of the shooter is Justin Wallowski. You recognise it?"

Elizabeth thought about it – thought how peculiar it seemed that the faceless would-be assassin in the crowd was really a guy with a name and a life. Tried to think whether she recognised his name.

She was just about to reply to Henry when there was a single knock on the door before it opened abruptly and Matt the DS agent stepped through, his face troubled and a sense of urgency in his stride. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am," he said, "but there's something that you need to know."

There was something about the way he looked and the way he spoke that told her that this was something serious, something to properly worry about.

An icy finger of a shiver ran down her spine and all the flushed heat drained rapidly out of her face. She felt herself instinctively withdrawing into the shelter of Henry's arm around her – but then her head throbbed in protest and the inconvenience of it pissed her off and her pride started hesitantly to kick back in.

What the hell did she have to shrink from? She should be mad as hell about what had happened and any new developments should only be fuel for her to burn. She shouldn't be _hiding_.

If only she could maintain that illusion. When she spoke to answer Matt her voice was steady but she could clearly hear herself forcing the control, doing her best to keep hold of the threads of the act: "What is it, Matt?"

There was something in the DS agent's hands and he fiddled with it as he stood at the end of the hospital bed. "A note was couriered to the hospital for you."

"What note?" Henry asked, leaning forward like he was ready to protect her from a threat, his own voice clear and confident and _demanding_ answers.

Maybe she _could_ just shrink back into him for a little while.

Matt looked down and then held out the thing that he held in his hands – a single small sheet of paper protected by a plastic wallet.

And that protective plastic was enough to tell Elizabeth that the note, whatever it contained, was evidence. Her heartbeat thumped heavy punctuation into the silence of the hospital room.

Henry reached around her with his free hand to take the note and then he lowered it to hold it between them so that they could both read it.

Elizabeth heard her husband's sharp intake of breath before she had even forced herself to look down at the page to read the words it held.

When she did, time stalled.

 _Next time, the bullets won't miss_.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Happy 2018! I hope everyone's New Year has got off to a great start, and I also hope you enjoy this chapter :) Thanks as ever to everyone reading this story and for all the comments; I always love hearing what you think! x

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 _Next time, the bullets won't miss_.

The brevity of the note, Henry thought, was part of what made it so chilling. It was so clear in its intent, and yet left open to interpretation a whole world of torturous scenarios.

The words were running around and around in his head, layering with the memory of the footage of the shooting and adding another coat of terror to the ones that had already been applied since Carl first rang the doorbell earlier in the evening. The culmination was an eruption of anger, which was contained only slightly by his lingering concern for Elizabeth, who was sitting eerily still and calm on her uncomfortable hospital bed.

Standing toe to toe with Matt the DS agent, Henry was mid-rant: "Next time? Next time could be two minutes or two months from now, what are you –"

"Dr McCord," Matt tried to cut in.

Henry wouldn't allow it. "There shouldn't even have been a _first_ time."

"I don't disagree –"

"That gun should never have made it into the crowd in the first place." Because that was part of it, wasn't it? Protocol may have worked perfectly once the shots had been fired, DS may have got Elizabeth into the car and to the hospital in record time, they may have reacted as exactly as they were supposed to when faced with an attempted shooting, but somewhere along the way there had been a monumental screw-up.

Somewhere along the way, Justin Wallowski had got a gun past security and it was only through luck and his crappy aim that his bullets hadn't hit Elizabeth.

"And now we're just what?" Henry said, dropping the volume from his voice but losing none of the menace. He could bring a few threats of his own when his family was in danger, and especially when his wife was sitting on the bed with a concussion and her thoughts were no doubt a jumble of panic and scenarios of sinister, faceless gunmen emerging from the shadows to target her. "Waiting to _react_ to the next time this happens?"

He was aware he was glaring at the DS agent, who was only trying to do his job and who had valiantly put his body between Elizabeth and a gunman only a couple of short hours ago, but Matt was currently the only one available on whom he could take out his frustrations. Henry watched the twitch at the other man's jaw and his uncomfortable swallow. Then he broke the glare to turn to look at Elizabeth, who was sat stock still on the bed, the note promising _next time_ lying face-up on the unused blanket in front of her.

It was obvious that she had disappeared inside her head and probably wasn't really hearing anything that he was saying, or else he knew that she would have jumped in to defend her DS agent. A trickle of worry made its way through him at how quiet she was being; it was joined by a flash of annoyance at the unwelcome disruption caused by the shooter. He and Elizabeth were supposed to be home now, eating the dinner he had cooked for them and enjoying some time alone together. He was supposed to be apologising to her for the way he had snapped at her earlier that morning. He was meant to be holding her close.

All he wanted right now was to hold her close.

"Dr McCord," Matt said calmly. "DS is investigating this threat against the Secretary as a top priority. We're also increasing her level of protection until we can be sure that the threat is neutralised."

"That's great," Henry bit out. "But they managed to get to her in the hospital. If they can get to her here, where else might they show up? Where's safe?"

"Henry."

Elizabeth's quiet voice broke through Henry's hard accusations and he turned back to her to seek out her gaze, the little crease between her eyes suggesting that she was feeling the effects of hitting her head and the general stress of the day. She shook her head slightly, silently telling him to dial it down.

How the hell was he supposed to dial it down when it turned out that the shooter they had been told was working alone apparently wasn't working alone after all? He couldn't just sit idly by and wait for something to happen. He couldn't stand to have this be a drawn out replay of what had happened with their stalker the previous year.

He was just about to try another tack when there was a sharp, single rap at the door before it swung open and Frank came into the room.

"Madam Secretary," he greeted Elizabeth, "how are you feeling?"

Henry waited, eager to hear what answer his wife might give her DS agent, to see if her response tallied with the look of beaten exhaustion on her face and the concussion and the queasy stomach and the slightly bloody bandage that was wrapped around her arm.

After a moment, Elizabeth shrugged. "I've had better nights." No doubt she had meant the words as a jokey quip, but they fell flat, thudding heavily on the air between them and clearly exposing just how she was currently feeling – uncertain, and hurting, and vulnerable.

Henry stepped back towards the bed to stand at her side, hoping that having him there would bolster her a little. He slid his hand warmly over her back and let it rest there.

"Well, that's true enough," agreed Frank. His gaze flicked to Henry. "Dr McCord." From the way he said his name, Henry figured that the DS agent had heard at least part of the tirade he had unleashed on Matt.

He thought maybe he should feel contrite. Maybe he would, later. When there was no longer the threat of bullets hanging over his wife's head.

"What's up, Frank?" Elizabeth asked, like she wasn't entirely sure if she actually wanted to know.

"Given the situation, I thought you'd appreciate an update, ma'am."

"Have you caught the guy yet?" Henry couldn't help the acerbically pointed question; his fear was currently manifesting as angry bolshiness, which was preferable to the only alternative of flailing silently in distress.

To his credit, Frank didn't rise to the bait. "We're talking to the courier who was sent over with the note, ma'am, to see if he can give us any information about where it originated. We have an extra security unit here at the hospital and an extra unit at your home, and we're conducting checks on anyone who enters your street."

"The neighbours won't like that," Elizabeth said quietly.

"I'm sure they'll like it more than the potential alternative," Henry said, flexing his fingers at her waist and dropping a kiss to her hair. Of course their neighbours would hate the inconvenience, but he couldn't give a damn right now about what was convenient for them. And an assassin walking boldly up the street surely wouldn't be good for neighbourhood convenience, either.

Frank paused before continuing. "We've also sent agents to have eyes on your children."

Elizabeth stiffened beneath Henry's hand and he didn't need to look at her face to know it would be creased with anxiety. "You –"

"It's a precaution, ma'am," Frank reassured her. "We've already got Stephanie at the White House and Jason at his girlfriend's, and campus security are watching Alison's dorm until DS get there."

"Are you bringing them in?" Henry asked, unsure as to what he hoped the answer would be. On the one hand he was desperate to see the children, to have them all together where he could keep an eye on both them and their mother and be certain that all his family was safe and whole. But on the other hand…

"We don't think it's necessary at this juncture. We're hoping this thing is going to be over fast, and we're as confident as we can be that there's no threat to the children, but we can bring them either here or back to your house if that's what you'd like?"

Henry forced himself to stay silent, his hand moving slowly over Elizabeth's back as he waited for her to answer. He wondered how feasible it would be just to pick her up and run away somewhere to hide until this whole sorry mess was over and done with. He thought about how in their lives there was always _something_ for them to worry over.

He thought about how he couldn't lose his wife.

"No," Elizabeth eventually said, the look on her face making it plain that it was paining her to make the call. She looked down at the note that rested on the mattress in front of her and traced one finger over the words that could be interpreted as both a threat and a promise. Her voice was sad and hollow as she went on reluctantly to explain: "I think right now they're safer away from me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The text from Jareth had come as a surprise.

No contact with him at all since they had properly broken off their relationship, and then suddenly out of the blue a text.

Well. Stevie supposed it wasn't out of the blue. Her mom making international news headlines because a madman had tried to kill her was no doubt a good reason to send a text to check in with a person with whom you had once planned to spend your life.

It wasn't like the caring stopped entirely just because the relationship did.

 _I heard about your mum. Are you okay?_

It was the first time she had actually wondered if she was okay since she had first heard the news, too busy until now focusing on what she could do, on making sure her mom was unhurt and on getting whatever information she could out of Russell and by tracking the comings and goings of various officials to the Oval Office.

And it wasn't like Russell had been uncaring. He had actually been very nice, sweet almost, and understanding, but he was never going to be the type to openly invite a discussion about _feelings_. And that had suited Stevie just fine.

Was she okay? She really didn't know.

She sat at her desk, staring at the text message, watching the words blur before her as tears welled up in her eyes and she gasped in a desperate breath. Her mother could have been killed earlier. She had watched the footage of a man aiming his gun deliberately at her mom and firing off a shot – then another, and another. She had seen her cheat death by mere _inches_.

So, in answer to Jareth's question: no, she didn't think she really was all that okay.

But she didn't want to tell that to her ex-fiancé.

Movement just outside the door caught her eye and she stood up, walking towards it. The door was ajar and Stevie caught sight of a familiar DS agent hovering in the corridor. She reached out to open the door wider – and bumped, quite literally, into Russell Jackson. "Oh, God!" she exclaimed from the shock of it.

"Where are you going?" Russell appeared unperturbed as he stepped around her to walk into the office.

She followed him. "Nowhere. I just… I saw the DS agent outside. I was wondering what she's doing there."

Russell glanced up at her. "I expect she's there for you."

Acid churned in Stevie's gut. "What? Why?"

Russell came straight out with it. "There's been a development. Your theory was right. Proof just showed up at the hospital – Justin Wallowski is definitely not working alone. The threat against your mom has escalated."

It was possible that Russell kept talking for a while after that but Stevie had no idea – she couldn't hear a thing over the rush of blood in her head and the pounding, racing thump of her heart in her chest as she processed Russell's statement.

 _I heard about your mum. Are you okay?_

A few minutes later, when her blood pressure had calmed slightly and Russell had left her alone again to rush off to speak to the Director of the FBI about coordinating the investigation with DS, Stevie finally answered the text from Jareth.

 _I'm fine, thank you._

Maybe if she thought about it hard enough, she would come to start to believe the lie.

* * *

A few steps away, Henry was grilling Frank about what was going on with an intensity that Elizabeth would have found attractive in other circumstances – if current circumstances didn't mean she had an almighty headache that made it hard to concentrate on much else and that wasn't reacting particularly well to the sound of raised voices. By her estimates, at least fifty per cent of the headache was a result of all the noise and stress and tension of the past few hours rather than the concussion, and while that was probably a good thing, if Henry kept up his interrogation of DS for much longer, she thought that figure might increase. Which was less good.

The sound of a ringing phone cut through Henry's questioning to grab her attention, and it took her a moment to realise that it was _her_ ringing phone that she could hear.

Oh yeah. She remembered Matt handing over her handbag shortly after they had arrived at the hospital, although she had paid it no attention at the time as she had been caught up in ensuring no one had been hit by the bullets, and where had she dumped the bag?

Elizabeth tracked the noise of the phone to the top of a small cabinet next to the bed, and hurriedly rummaged around in the bag to dig it out before it cut off, her eyes squeezed shut as her stomach rolled at the sudden movement. She didn't look at the caller ID before she answered, fumbling with the buttons to connect the call. "Hello?"

"Hold please for the President," a voice said.

There was a click and a moment of silence and then, "Bess?"

At the sound of the voice her posture straightened automatically and she was aware of her brain starting to kick instinctively into professional mode, like an ingrained muscle memory. "Hi, Conrad."

The other voices in the room fell abruptly silent at her greeting. Henry spun around to look at her while Frank took the opportunity to back quietly out of the room, no doubt grateful for the chance to escape to do his job.

"How are you?" The President's voice was soft, a tone that suggested he was alone while he was speaking to her and not in a room filled with high ranking officials, which was a relief and meant that she could relax just a little.

She sighed. "I'm okay."

"I don't believe you."

She didn't reply to that, and was glad of the fact that while Conrad may be her boss and not one to pull his professional punches or back down from an argument, he was also her old friend who knew her well enough to know when not to push too hard.

"We're going to sort this out, Bess," he said.

She thought that if he was in the room with her right then, he would have patted her shoulder in comfort. He sounded so genuine, so reassuring. So why didn't she feel reassured?

Then Conrad's tone changed slightly, and she knew it was the President as well as her friend talking when he spoke again. "I promise you that. We're going to sort this out, and quickly."

 _You can't promise me that,_ she wanted to say, but didn't – because she wanted to believe him.

"In the meantime, you just take care of yourself, okay? Let Henry look after you. And -" He was cut off by something happening on the other end of the phone line. There was the sound of muffled voices, as though he had covered the phone's mouthpiece, and a minute later he was back. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. We'll speak soon, yes?"

Elizabeth forced her brain into gear just enough to say, "Yes. Thank you."

The line went dead and she held the phone in her hand, looking down at the screen.

"Babe?" Henry's voice filtered through to her as he eased himself down next to her on the mattress, sitting close but not quite touching her, no doubt recognising the coiling tension that tautened her muscles and set her posture on edge.

There was just nothing that she could _do_ ; she thought that was the worst thing.

No, not the worst thing. Because the worst thing was the whole damn situation, the worst thing was the fact her kids were currently safer away from her than with her, a thing that should never be true. But the fact there was nothing she could currently do to fix it was driving her crazy. She couldn't help the investigation. She had seen nothing from the stage that might be useful and there was nothing she could do now to contribute. She was relying on other people to do the job for her, to do their jobs and find whoever it was who was working with Justin Wallowski, whoever had sent her the threatening note and promised to kill her – she was relying on other people to fix it.

And maybe that was good. The right people doing the right work. But she wasn't used to feeling on the other side of things, to feeling useless and stuck. The fact there was nothing she could do was suffocating her. Making her feel isolated.

Like a sitting target.

"Elizabeth?" Henry prompted her when she failed to respond and his hand moved to rest warmly against her knee, thumb stroking softly against her skin.

She stilled his movements with her hand on his. "I have to get out of this hospital."


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for all the continuing support for this random little story, you guys are the best x

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 _One hour later_

"I really don't think this is a good idea."

Elizabeth sighed. "I know."

She was more than aware of what Henry thought because he had been telling her for the past hour that she should stay in the hospital until Doctor Gerber was happier for her to go. Elizabeth had countered that the doctor had informed her after another examination that she was 'probably' fine to leave, and while she might prefer a few hours' more observation for her patient just to be safe, she had signed off on the release on the grounds that Elizabeth return immediately if her symptoms worsened, that she attend a follow-up appointment the next afternoon and, once she got home from the hospital, did nothing strenuous until then. Terms that Elizabeth had been happy to accept under the circumstances.

She thought that the doctor understood the powder keg that was the Secretary of State's hospital room and the ball of simmering stress that was her husband, and figured her patient would feel better elsewhere. Good call.

Despite his concern for the current plan, Henry took off his jacket and held it up for Elizabeth to put on in replacement of the one that had blood all over the sleeve. She turned and slid her arms into the sleeves, liking the way the fabric engulfed her and the warmth that passed from Henry's body to hers through the material. "Thanks," she said, hoping Henry knew she meant for more than just the jacket.

He said nothing but wrapped his arms around her from behind and gently pulled her against him, his lips finding the top of her head.

She just enjoyed the sensation for a moment, the feeling of security that washed over her at being held by her husband. Wrapped in the circle of his arms, she thought that maybe they had a chance of beating this thing. But she couldn't ignore reality for long, and she was very keen to leave the confines of the hospital room. "Matt and Frank are waiting in the corridor," she reminded him quietly. "Let's go."

Henry's grip tightened for a moment and she could feel him hesitating behind her, as though he was about to make another play to get her to stay in the hospital a little while longer. Then he relaxed slightly and said, "Okay."

Just as well – if he had protested again she was going to remind him of what a terrible and reluctant patient he was when he was in the hospital, how eager he had been to get home, and that was an extra splash of trouble she didn't really want to add to their current woes. Elizabeth squeezed Henry's hands with hers before she stepped away from his embrace towards the door. She took a couple of seconds before she opened the door to centre herself, all too aware that anyone she saw on the other side of the door would see her as the Secretary of State, and she needed to make sure she had her game face on. She sucked in a slightly shaky breath. "Okay."

She opened the door.

* * *

Henry had seen the change in Elizabeth as soon as she opened the door, and he had to admit that his wife was damn good.

She had flicked off the distress like it was controlled by a switch – or she had at least tamped it down far enough that it was almost impossible to read on her face and no one who didn't know her well would be able to tell it was there at all. The Secretary of State was still at work, and she had things to do.

If only that was enough to quell the feeling of unease that lay heavy like a greasy stone in the base of Henry's gut. He walked at Elizabeth's side as they made their way through the hospital corridors, DS surrounding them like a shroud, his hand holding onto her elbow to keep that connection, as though holding on to her was the only way he could guarantee he could keep her with him.

They were leaving the hospital a different way to how Henry had arrived, and he supposed the aim was to avoid the press that were gathered outside, to let Elizabeth slip away unseen. The route took them along a corridor and then down a flight of stairs before they came out into another corridor and passed what looked to be recovery wards.

Multiple faces looked up in interest with each window they passed, and Henry found himself crowding into his wife even though he knew the threat was not located within those rooms.

Elizabeth glanced up at him. "Henry," she murmured, and her tone said _back up_.

He knew he was starting to grate on her nerves but – sorry, babe - that couldn't be helped. Maybe once the author of _next time the bullets won't miss_ was in custody, he'd be able to back up a little bit.

Then again, maybe not.

"You sure you won't stay here a while longer?" He hadn't even planned to ask the question, it just slipped out, and he winced in anticipation of Elizabeth's retaliation. God knew she was due to snap at any time.

She didn't. Instead she stared into a small ward as they passed another window. Several patients in hospital gowns stared back at the large, smothering security detail surrounding the Secretary of State. "We have to leave," she said, "because if I stay here everyone in this building is a sitting target."

Oh. Okay. He got it now. He should have realised it sooner, really. Of _course_ she wanted to leave because she didn't want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt. Of course her instinct would be to isolate herself, even though it arguably made her more of a target. Of course she would be working to the rule of _first_ _keep the civilians safe_. "Elizabeth, there's no way a shooter could get in here," he said.

"I don't think that's going to make all these people feel better," she replied, gesturing towards the ward they had just passed and the worried faces they had left behind.

Never mind that being admitted to hospital was in itself a very good cause of worry and the anxious faces may have had nothing at all to do with her. But Henry had to concede the point. And the note promising _next time the bullets won't miss_ had managed to find its way inside these secure walls; he reminded himself that _secure_ and _safe_ weren't quite the same thing. He took his hand from Elizabeth's elbow and instead slid his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and holding her just a little closer as they walked.

If Elizabeth still wanted him to back off, the way she leaned into him told him that wasn't all that she wanted.

They passed through a door and into a spacious vestibule where the air was noticeably cooler and clearer, smelling less strongly of disinfectant than the corridors they had just traversed, and that told Henry that they must have reached the exit. They paused for a moment in the space.

A phone rang and was answered by Frank, who listened in silence for more than a minute without saying anything before, finally, he said, "Understood. Thank you, sir."

He turned to Elizabeth, and Henry could have sworn he was avoiding looking at him.

Understandable, he supposed, given his earlier behaviour. But, damn it, this affected him too and the only reason he held his tongue was the look on the man's face suggested that this was something urgent and important – and, he reminded himself, Frank's duty was to Elizabeth, not him. It wouldn't do to further piss off the man whose job it was to defend Henry's wife from bullets.

"What is it, Frank?" Elizabeth asked.

"The FBI has done some background on our shooter, Justin Wallowski. Turns out he lives with his older brother, Aiden."

Henry may not have spent two decades working for the CIA like Elizabeth, but he had spent enough time working in intelligence circles to be able to see ahead to where this was going. He didn't need to hear the punchline to know what it was, but that didn't stop the ice from creeping through his veins and sliding up his spine as Frank continued his explanation.

"Some local cops went round to their apartment to check it out, but – "

"Aiden wasn't home," Elizabeth said with certainty – no doubt her quick brain had flashed immediately to the story's end point as soon as Frank had said the word _brother_.

Frank nodded. "Right. But the FBI also spoke to the guy who was hired to courier the note to the hospital. The courier is legitimate, he works as a messenger. But –"

"The courier's description of the guy who paid him to bring the message matches the brother." Elizabeth laughed but there was no humour in it.

"Right," Frank said again.

Henry figured there were two ways to see the situation. One: the Wallowski brothers were obviously amateurs. They hadn't taken precautions to anonymise themselves, were sloppy and at least one of them was a poor shot. The way they had acted had given DS and the FBI plenty of leads, and spoke well of a successful resolution to the nightmare sooner rather than later.

Two: the Wallowski brothers were obviously amateurs. They didn't care who knew who they were, had managed to evade what was allegedly top notch security to take aim at the Secretary of State, and one of them _might_ be good with a gun. The way they had acted meant that DS and the FBI were scrambling, had been scrambling ever since Justin fired that first shot, and they obviously felt they had nothing to lose. It certainly spoke to _something_ happening sooner rather than later, but a successful resolution?

Henry wasn't prepared to bet on it.

He couldn't shake the feeling that every move they made was a gamble with Elizabeth's life.

"Aiden Wallowski can't have gone far," Frank said. "He hasn't had time, and he hasn't even tried to hide his paper trail. The FBI is tracking him as we speak, working from where he was last seen at the courier place in the District."

There was a burst of radio static and the DS agents surrounding them started to move in formation once again, this time towards the door that led outside to where Elizabeth's motorcade could already be heard idling. The door opened to a wall of flashing blue lights, and it was obvious that a high volume of District Police had also turned out to lend some drama to the occasion.

At Henry's side, Elizabeth paused for a moment at the threshold, and sucked in a shaky breath.

Then together they stepped outside.

Show time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"So… this is good, right? We know who this guy is, what he looks like, where he's been. He can be arrested." Stevie was aware that she was railroading slightly, hoping that if she said it confidently enough, Russell would capitulate and just agree that it was as simple as she was making it sound.

The Chief of Staff looked up from his phone and it was clear that he had, at best, been only half-listening to her trying to convince herself that everything was almost okay. "We're certainly throwing everything at this thing to make sure that happens," he said.

Well, that was annoyingly inconclusive.

 _Try again_. "And it should be soon, right? I mean –"

"Stevie," Russell cut her off, his exasperation leaking out at her for the first time that night.

She had to admit she was surprised he had managed to keep it bottled up in front of her for so long. "Sorry." She flopped down into a hard-backed chair and looked absently at a stack of reports on Russell's desk.

There was a clunk as Russell dropped his phone down next to the reports, followed by a weary, slightly impatient sigh. Stevie looked up to see Russell rubbing his eyes before awkwardly replacing his glasses with one hand. "I get the urgency," he told her. "Believe me, I'm right there with you. And you're right, it should be soon. It _should_ be. But this is the situation that we…" He trailed off like he couldn't quite decide how to phrase what he wanted to say.

Then an expression crossed his face that looked like _screw it_ , and he abandoned the attempt to practice diplomacy with the daughter of America's top diplomat.

"This is the situation that we dread," he said, bluntly. "Because all the training and planning and practice exercises in the world can't tell you exactly what is going to happen when this situation occurs. When someone slips the net and pulls the trigger. And this isn't an organised, resourced group that we know about and have an FBI file a foot high on. This is a couple of guys with a laptop and social media and a licence to own a gun. In a way, it's worse. They're unknown. Unpredictable."

"More dangerous," Stevie filled in when Russell failed to articulate what he was so obviously intending to convey.

He didn't acknowledge her comment. "The Wallowski brothers spend their evenings online spewing a whole lot of vitriol – and a whole lot of it is about your mother. Now Justin never learned to shoot properly and they're making this up as they go along, but the hate they have is genuine."

 _That makes them dangerous_ , were the words he didn't say. Stevie didn't feel the need to give voice to the missing words that time.

"And they're really stupid," Russell went on. He let out a laugh that may have included some genuine amusement, if only at the audacity of the brothers. "Aiden sent a tweet about Elizabeth the other day. 'It'd be worth going to jail just to see her dead.' They _broadcasted_ it."

And Stevie thought that raised some important questions. A threat that blatant, in the public sphere? For everyone to see? Her expression hardened. "Why wasn't it picked up?" The question came out like an accusation, like she was laying blame at Russell Jackson's feet. "Why didn't we know? Security should have _seen_ it."

Russell was quiet for a long moment. He swallowed heavily, and his next words held the tone of a hushed confession. "The security guys…" He sighed. "It's like this. When you're faced with wading through that level of hate… all day, every day, most of it just angry, empty words… a lot of them the same as the angry words of one hundred other people – sometimes a real threat gets missed."

Those words hung heavy in the air between them.

Stevie's biting indignation slashed through the cloak of silence. "Not _good_ enough."

Russell Jackson looked towards her but he couldn't quite hold her gaze. "No."

He looked down at his phone as it buzzed on the desk, thumbed the screen and then was still for a second. He looked back up. "Your mom is in the car. She's on the way home."

* * *

Elizabeth was aware of Henry sitting hyper-vigilant beside her, his body tense and set to high alert, and she knew there was no point in trying to talk him down.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to try, albeit in a roundabout way, because she was on edge enough as it was, and the overwrought aura humming around him wasn't particularly helping matters. "Sit back, I need a pillow." She tugged at his arm to get him to abandon his position sitting at the very edge of the leather seat and instead lean back against the cushion.

He glanced at her and whatever he saw on her face softened him. He gave her an apologetic look and relaxed into the seat, lifting one arm to let her tuck herself against him, her cheek against his shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "Can't seem to stand down my brain."

She shook her head to dismiss the unnecessary apology – of course he couldn't get his brain to calm down. Neither could she. Her mind was racing a mile a minute but her body was demanding that she seek out comfort, and she figured she could still freak out while she was leaning comfortably against her husband. No reason he couldn't do something similar. She still felt the need to reassure him, even as she wasn't sure she believed her words: "It's going to be okay, Henry."

"Says the woman who was shot at," he retorted. Then he cringed. "Sorry," he said again. "I just… if a threat from a couple of amateurs can turn into such a circus? Let's just say it doesn't fill me with confidence for when this happens with professionals."

She wanted to say that wasn't ever going to happen, but that would be a lie. She lived her life as a target by virtue of her job. Nothing was guaranteed. But – "Henry, I'm pretty sure that's how madness starts."

"What is?"

"Playing _what if_ like that."

"Yeah." He shook his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts.

She changed the subject. "So much for getting out of the hospital unnoticed by the press."

Elizabeth had caught sight of the mass of journalists as DS had bundled her into the car outside the hospital's back door. Just far enough away that they wouldn't be able to see her in the middle of the DS scrum formation, she had still felt the hungry energy of them as cameras flashed and journalists shouted blurred questions in the direction of the motorcade. The blades of a helicopter that could have belonged to either a news station or the FBI could be heard whipping overhead, and the noise had felt like it was pressing down on her, wrapping itself around her and making her claustrophobic with its rhythmic embrace.

By contrast, the inside of the car now felt open and vast.

And she at least felt slightly – _slightly_ – better now that they had a name to work with.

"Maybe we should be glad the press is there," Henry said. "If Aiden Wallowski is anywhere nearby, they might get him on videotape. He won't be able to go unnoticed for long."

Yeah, but there were some things she didn't exactly want broadcast to the world. She supposed it was a price to pay. She could live with the reminder of the documentary evidence of this awful night if it somehow helped to catch the damn guy.

The car turned a corner and Elizabeth shifted in her seat, her head throbbing with the movement. She picked up her head from Henry's shoulder so that she could look out of the window, hoping that tracking their journey would help to lessen the unstructured pulsing in her head. The sights outside were familiar: only a few streets away from home.

Finally.

She sighed in relief and for the first time allowed her thoughts to start to turn to what she might do once they were home. Even just the prospect of her own space – and her own bed – was tantalising. And she badly wanted a shower so that she could wash off the grime of the day, the blood and sweat and the rush of bullets and fear.

The car slowed for a red light.

A burst of chatter came from the DS radios.

She couldn't make out the words – but she thought they sounded frantic. Her agents in the front seat started to exchange low, urgent whispers.

Elizabeth sat up straight, turning to look at her agents up front. "Guys?"

More chatter and static up front and then Frank, sat in the passenger seat, answered a call on his cell phone.

Elizabeth exchanged a curious, worried glance with Henry.

Then Frank turned to Matt in the driver's seat and said, "Go."

There was a crunch and a squeal and then the car was turning abruptly around a corner and down a wide street that led away from the house, weaving around a couple of parked cars and then picking up speed as they cleared the brief obstruction.

They rounded another corner and Elizabeth was pressed back in her seat from the suddenness of it, breathing fast and heart racing hard.

Her head was spinning. Police sirens were blaring.

In her mind she heard gunshots and the screams of a frightened crowd.

Frank told Matt, "Go faster."

The car went faster.

Elizabeth reached back blindly to fumble for Henry's hand. She clung on tight.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello! I'm very sorry for the massive delay in getting this chapter out, I'm not entirely sure what happened there. I forgot how to write for a while and then somehow time passed and then... yeah. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and thank you so much to everyone who has sent encouraging messages, I'm glad people are still interested in reading this random story. I'll try not to leave it so long this time. Let me know what you think! x

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

It took her brain a few seconds to kick into gear and catch up with what was happening, but when it did, Elizabeth had one overriding thought that crowded out all the rest: what the actual _fuck_.

The car was speeding down the street and her DS agents weren't giving her any explanation, and the only reason she wasn't loudly demanding one _immediately_ was that Matt was focused intently on driving and Frank was giving what sounded like an urgent running commentary to someone on the phone, and she wasn't about to be responsible for distracting them at such a crucial time.

But, oh, how she planned to give them hell later.

Especially Matt, for his sins against driving. He spun the wheel to jerk the car around another corner and it sent her stomach flipping, bile rising in her throat as she fought the urge to vomit – again.

"Babe, what is this?" Henry said as he sat beside her, his hand clutching hers so tightly she could feel his rapid pulse beating against her own.

She thought that she probably knew what it was. It didn't take a genius to figure out what it might be that had prompted her agents to start careening through the streets of DC with what she thought of as reckless abandon but knew that they would maintain were evasive manoeuvres. Same difference. It could really only be one thing.

A glance at Henry's face told her that he no doubt knew what it was, too, but that he was reluctant to let his mind go there, that he was still clinging on to the last shred of ignorance in the hope that everything was really fine.

She was just about to reply to his question when a loud siren behind them cut her off. Flashing blue lights drew up alongside the car and then sped ahead, two police motorcycles overtaking them to clear their path ahead.

The flash of the lights felt like white heat against her eyes and she squeezed them shut, succeeding in blocking out the colour but not the rhythmic flashing or the noise of the sirens.

Her heart was beating fast inside her chest like it was racing to catch up with itself, like it was on the verge of stuttering to a fall and threatening to drag her mind down with it.

The familiar stirring of the start of a panic attack.

But she didn't have time to dwell on that, didn't have the time to spare to give in to the brewing panic, because she was damned if she was going to be dragged down by this, because of some _bastard_ , and because Henry was with her, and he needed her and she needed him and she needed to stay present in the moment, needed to stay with him.

Needed to keep her wits about her so after the whole hellish nightmare was over she knew exactly what she was angry about and why.

She forced herself to open her eyes despite the pulsating blue lights ahead.

Her vision swam and her gut roiled and she thought for a moment she was going to vomit in yet another DS car, but then the sensation settled enough that the immediate danger passed and she was able to register the fact that there were police escorts either side of the car as well as in front.

The fact made her feel both more and less safe.

At least it balanced out. Kind of.

And at least it was almost over – that was what she told herself. This had to be the end game, it _had_ to be. They had to be driving so fast because the target had been located and was, hopefully, being neutralised. It had to be the last thing before everything was finished and then she could go home and collapse into bed and make Henry hold her all night long so her mind was less inclined to take her down to the dark places where lived her memories of gunshots and screaming and the heat of a bullet as it flashed past her face.

Then she thought: _someone is trying to kill me._

Maybe this was the last thing. Maybe it was almost over. Maybe she was right about that.

But for now, in this moment, the threat was real. Matt wouldn't be speeding through the city streets surrounded by a police escort if it wasn't real. Frank wouldn't be sat with his phone glued to his ear and an expression of studied worry on his face that he wasn't even bothering to try to hide.

Aiden Wallowski was trying to kill her _now_ and they didn't know his exact plan or the extent of his skills or resources or really anything at all except for the note he had sent her to promise that _next time the bullets won't miss_ and, oh God, this could really be the last thing.

Maybe it was almost over.

Suddenly the thought wasn't so comforting any more.

"Henry," she said, and clutching his hand wasn't enough so she leaned into him, pressed against him as much as she could, wrapping her free arm across his middle and pressing her face to his chest.

She could feel his sweat soaking through his shirt and the arrhythmic racing of his heart pulsing every bit as fast and off-beat as hers. One of his shirt buttons bit sharply into her lip and she pressed harder into it in something that fell halfway between a desperate kiss and a desperate attempt to cover as much of Henry's body with hers as possible, as though it would be enough to protect him from any incoming harm.

Henry's free arm wrapped around her and his fingers dug tightly into her shoulder like he was flailing for something to stop him from falling.

The desperation in his touch sobered her slightly. He needed her. Her husband needed her. She knew he was afraid for her and, while he might not admit it out loud, at least a bit of his fear right now had to be for himself, too. Impossible for it not to be, with the car speeding like it was.

And any bullet fired at Elizabeth might not hit _her._

She huddled closer into Henry. "It's okay, baby," she said.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught some movement and she turned her face just enough to see Frank slump back against his seat for a second – in relief or despair? – before he turned to Matt. "Cool it," he instructed. "You can pull over now."

The car slowed back to a normal speed and then Matt flicked the indicator and pulled the car over to the side of the road, slowing to a gradual stop.

Their police escort came to idle alongside them and finally the sirens cut out, although the blue lights continued to flash and the officers on the motorcycles remained vigilant, scanning the area ahead.

For a moment the car was silent but for the sound of their breathing as the four of them collected themselves back together.

Frank got there first. "You okay, Madam Secretary?" he asked.

Still leaning against Henry's chest, Elizabeth nodded a little shakily. "Yeah."

"Dr McCord?"

"What was that?" Henry asked in lieu of an answer to the question.

Perhaps wisely, Frank didn't answer the question directly and he addressed his response mostly to Elizabeth. "It's good news, ma'am. We've just got word that we've got Aiden Wallowski."

The statement prompted her to lift her head from Henry's chest and sit up just enough that she could look at her agent properly. "He's in custody?" She could hear the hope in her voice.

Frank shook his head. "Not quite." The expression on his face was somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "He's dead."

"What?"

"He was tracked down to a couple of streets away from your house, took off at a dead run when he saw the agents coming for him. We were only one street over at the time."

Elizabeth supposed that explained the urgent midnight race through the streets of DC.

"They got him cornered," Frank went on. "He panicked. The idiot pulled his gun on the response team. He was shot by an FBI agent. He's dead, ma'am."

She heard the rush of blood in her head as she quietly took in what Frank had said, a feeling that wasn't quite relief washing over her as she digested the news and remembered the promise that Aiden Wallowski had made to her only a few hours ago.

 _Next time, the bullets won't miss_.

She thought there was a certain irony in the outcome.


End file.
